


let loving start

by landfill_lady



Series: superhero jukebox [1]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Sub!Klaus, author's first work in fandom, based on a kinkmeme prompt, but diego is one hundred percent a leather daddy and if you disagree with me you're W-R-O-N-G, canon-typical sibling incest, listen y'all normally i'm all about fostering a diversity of opinions within fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 13:24:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18095150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/landfill_lady/pseuds/landfill_lady
Summary: Just make it back to the academy,Klaus cajoles himself.Make it back home, and everything will be okay.Which is a fine plan in theory, until he's actually standing in the foyer and Diego is looking down on him from the stairs, shaking his head and crossing his arms like Klaus is the disappointment of the fucking century.





	let loving start

**Author's Note:**

> [kinkmeme prompt](https://umbrellakink.dreamwidth.org/284.html?thread=14620#cmt14620): "Sub!Klaus coming home from a BDSM party/club/hookup with bad subdrop, getting some aftercare"

Klaus does his best to stay sober after Vietnam. (More out of respect for Dave's memory than any newfound determination or self-worth, but hey, who's counting?) It doesn't always work; old habits are a bitch to break, after all. But he's doing pretty fucking well, if he does say so himself.

But sometimes he still gets the itch to distract himself: to feel something so all-consumingly that it blots out all the demons in his head. Usually when the urge hits he'll sleep it off, or go find a sibling to bother, or pinch his forearms black-and-blue until the dull, throbbing pain distracts him from the ache in his gut. Occasionally, he has to get more creative. After all, desperate times call for desperate measures, to quote... whoever.

It's on one of his more desperate evenings that Klaus finds himself slinking off to a very particular club in the warehouse district, one he hasn't visited in years, in nothing but tight leather pants, a pair of fuck-me pumps, and a glittery mesh crop top pinched from Allison's closet. He finds what he needs there: sharp, exquisite pain, wracking his body until it's all he can focus on. The high is exhilarating.

It isn't until he's stumbling his way back home afterwards that the downside presents itself. Being hurt puts Klaus' mind in a floaty, far-off place where nothing seems quite real. But the comedown is worse than cocaine. He can feel every cut and weal on his body, every place where cloth chafes against reddened skin. Worse still is the wave of overwhelming emotion: joy and sadness and pain and self-loathing and exhilaration, and more than anything a deep, soul-crushing loneliness which Klaus is able to keep boxed away most of the time.

Embarrassingly, he feels tears begin to well up in his eyes.

_Just make it back to the academy,_ Klaus cajoles himself. _Make it back home, and everything will be okay._ Which is a fine plan in theory, until he's actually standing in the foyer and Diego is looking down on him from the stairs, shaking his head and crossing his arms like Klaus is the disappointment of the fucking century. (Which is rich, considering Diego's wearing his stupid leather suit and Klaus is pretty sure he's been out crimefighting again.)  
  
"Hey, buddy," Klaus warbles, doing his best to disguise his misery with a cheery wave.  
  
Diego's brow pulls into a dark frown. "Are you high?"  
  
He takes the stairs three at a time until he's standing inches away from Klaus, holding Klaus' jaw steady in one calloused hand so Diego can peer into his eyes.  
  
"Um... no?" Klaus says weakly, uncertain whether he wants to press the issue. As much as he doesn't want Diego's scorn for something he hasn't even done, he doesn't particularly want Diego to know what he'd actually been doing either.  
  
It's a moot point once Diego's sharp gaze catches on the hickeys bruised into his neck. He spins Klaus around, sucking in a sharp breath when he sees Klaus' mottled back, achingly exposed through the fishnet fabric.  
  
"C'mon. Let's get you upstairs."  
  
To Klaus' vague surprise, Diego doesn't just dump him in his childhood bedroom and leave him there to think on his sins. Instead, he manhandles Klaus into his own room, helps him strip down, and lays him out facedown on the bed.  
  
On some level, Klaus is expecting a lecture - Diego isn't Luther, but hardly for lack of trying - but his brother is quiet and methodical as he treats the welts on Klaus' back and thighs. He disinfects the wounds, which stings like a bitch, before covering them with a thick, cool salve that makes Klaus moan with relief.  
  
Once the abrasions are all covered, Klaus feels the mattress shift as Diego gets up and makes for the door. Something seizes up in his chest, and he begs, "Don't go."  
  
He's immediately furious with himself. Klaus puts a lot of work into his devil-may-care attitude; into being untouchable, unfazed. But something about this stupid comedown's left him feeling vulnerable in a way he hasn't for years.

He grits his teeth and braces himself for Diego to tease him for his neediness, but his brother just sighs, wipes his slicked-up palms on a discarded tee shirt, and unzips his catsuit.  
  
Once he's down to his boxer-briefs, he flops down faceup onto the mattress, manhandling Klaus on top of him so he can card his fingers through Klaus’ matted curls. Klaus almost makes a quip about how tender Diego’s being with him right now, but he’s reluctant to draw attention to it in case, Christ forbid, he stops.  
  
Instead, he says noncommittally, “You’re good at this.”  
  
Diego hums, dragging his fingertips gently across Klaus’ sensitive scalp. “Thanks. God knows I’ve had enough practice."  
  
Something about his tone makes Klaus want to press further, a detective sensing a lead.  
“You mean like, patching yourself up after your nighttime-savior stuff?”  
  
Diego shrugs, and Klaus takes a moment to enjoy the way his torso ripples with muscle.  
  
“Sure. And I’ve done it for other people, too. After we’ve fucked.”  
  
It takes a moment for that to sink in fully. Once it does, Klaus giggles to himself, shaking his head incredulously. Dom Diego. Who would’ve thought? Although, when he thinks about it, it makes sense.  
  
Sweet, tryhard Diego, always so obsessed with proving himself. Diego, who wants other people to see him as strong and cool and masculine so badly that he runs around in his ridiculous leather gear, sometimes even when he isn’t vigilante-ing. And as much as he’d hated the man, Diego's internalized Dad’s dogma about helping the needy, protecting the vulnerable, more than any of them. Of course he’s a Dom. Christ, Klaus bets he’s a fucking leather daddy.  
  
“Thanks, Diego,” Klaus tells him sleepily, once the giggles have worn off. His brother’s chest expands and contracts beneath his cheek in a deep sigh.  
  
“You shouldn’t fuck around with people who aren’t gonna take care of you afterwards.”  
  
Even through the warm, sleepy haze enveloping him, Klaus feels the same stab of annoyance he gets whenever someone tries to tell him what to do.  
  
“Then who exactly am I supposed to fuck around with? Men aren’t exactly lining up down the block to pamper me, Di. Unless _you’re_ offering.”  
  
He expects a sharp, speedy denial; a _who the fuck do you think we are, Luther and Allison?_ But Diego just inhales sharply, bringing a hand up to cup the back of Klaus’ neck. He doesn’t say no.  
  
“Ooh,” Klaus teases, luxuriating in the feeling of butterflies in his stomach. “Somebody _likes_ me—”  
  
“Shut up, Klaus,” Diego drawls, but his tone is so fucking fond Klaus can’t bring himself to take offense. “We’ll talk about this tomorrow. For now, try and get some sleep, okay?”  
  
Klaus is a contrarian by nature, but Diego’s hold is so warm and firm and comfortable that he finds himself following the instruction almost before he realizes it’s happening.

**Author's Note:**

> title from "hold me now" by the thompson twins! if you're the kind of person who can read and listen to music at the same time (unlike me lmao) it's def recommended listening for this fic.


End file.
